


Last Nerve

by loupgarou1750 (LoupGarou)



Series: Daddy's Boy [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Chan, Humor, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-24
Updated: 2007-07-24
Packaged: 2017-11-04 00:50:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoupGarou/pseuds/loupgarou1750
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snape, who has recently acquired a son, has rather odd notions about father/son relationships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Nerve

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Perfica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perfica/gifts), [perverse_idyll](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perverse_idyll/gifts), [painless_j](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=painless_j).



> In spite of the 'chan' and 'incest' tags, this contains no actual sex.

'Dad?'

Snape yawned, licked his finger, and turned over another page.

'Da-ad.'

Oh. Right. That would be me.

'Can I have a glass of water?'

'No. You may not have a glass of water. You'll wet the bed.' Snape hurriedly crossed his legs and wondered why Albus couldn't have discovered he was the father of a strapping twenty-year-old. Because then, Severus would have happily given the lad twice as much water as he could possibly hold.

'Dad!'

Snape turned his head and looked at his scandalised son. The bright green eyes were wide and their long, dark lashes flickered in annoyance.

'I don't wet the bed!'

'No, and you won't until you're at least thirty. Not if I have anything to say about it, young man.'

'Da-ad!'

'Really, Harry, we must work on your deficient vocabulary. Surely a boy of eight knows more than eight words. I have it on good authority,' Snape tapped the book in his lap, 'that you should have at least double that by now.'

'Da-ad! I'm almost eleven!'

'Oh lovely. A twenty-five percent increase, just that quick. I'm proud of you, son.'

Harry stuck his tongue out.

'Come over here and do that and I'll bite it off.'

Harry ducked his head shyly. He really was a very pretty boy.

Snape shifted in his seat and crossed his legs in the other direction. 'What's the matter, boy? Scared?'

The green eyes flashed. 'Hello? Yes! You'd actually do it. I've already figured that out.'

'Excellent. Stick with me. We'll have your vocabulary up to age-level in no time.'

'Da-ad!'

'And one step forward, two steps back. You can't possibly be my son.'

Good Lord. Was that a tear trembling on those ridiculously long lashes? 'No crying, Potter! Snapes do not cry. Ever.' He paused to consider that. 'Unless they are being soundly thrashed for being very bad boys. Are you a very bad boy, Harry?'

'No.' Harry cautiously folded his hands over his bum.

'Hmm. Pity. I could do . . . I mean you could do with a sound thrashing, I suspect. Spare the rod and spoil the child, and all that.'

Harry giggled. Apparently Snape was better at this fatherhood business than he had a reasonable right to expect. 'Why are you laughing? Make up your mind. Which is it? Copious tears, or insane chortling?'

'It's nothing. I just liked the idea, that's all.'

He liked the idea? He liked the idea? Crossing his legs wasn't doing Snape much good any longer. More. Any more. 'You like the idea of being thrashed, do you? You must be Potter's son. Snape's top. Exclusively.'

'No-o-o. I think sparing the rod and spoiling the child is a great idea.' The boy let loose another deranged giggle. 'What's 'top' mean?'

'Ask me when you're seventeen and I'll give you a practical demonstration. Now, shouldn't you be in bed? It's gone half seven.'

'Only babies go to bed that early. I'm not tired. Can't I sit up with you?'

'I've only the one chair, and it's occupied. Go to bed. I'm a busy man.'

'You don't want me here, do you?' The black-mopped head dipped again, but not quickly enough for Snape to miss the quiver of disappointment on that ravishingly sulky bottom lip.

Once again, Snape sighed. He really didn't want anyone's spawn, let alone his own, anywhere near him. And it didn't help that the boy had been wrapped in pre-natal spells that assured his resemblance to that fuckwit James Potter. But he had sworn to Dumbledore, and himself if truth be told, that he would not subject the boy to the same kind of misanthropic upbringing his own begetter thought appropriate. What did fathers do when their offspring sulked? Other than give them a sound thrashing?

He looked at his son. The boy's head was still lowered, and he was prancing nervously from one foot to the other.

'Fine. We can share the chair. The chair, damn you!' Snape snarled as the boy ran across the room and practically leapt into his lap. 'Some things are private, Potter. And tonight, my lap is one of those things. Get off, you great lump!'

Harry let loose yet another demented giggle. Then he wriggled. As Snape saw it, he had one of two options: he could dump the boy out of the chair and onto his pert buttocks, or he could stop the wriggling by pinning him firmly in place. Snape hadn't been sorted into Slytherin for nothing; he clamped his hands onto the slim little hips and pushed down. Oh yes. That was much, much better. Much better. Lovely really.

'Stop wriggling. Do not move until I order you to do so.' He needed a moment to compose himself.

'But something's poking me.'

'Something will poke you if you don't settle down. You're working my last nerve, boy.'

Harry squirmed just a little. Snape hissed just a little. Truthfully, that last nerve could use a good workout.


End file.
